Instinct
by FinalArc
Summary: Everyone has a breaking point. An off day. Bruce and Dick are on the warpath and Tim just wants to eat his cereal.


Tim's first instinct was to just stay out of it. That was his modis opporanti: Stay away from Jason, keep out of Dick and Bruce's fights, bite your tongue around Damian, children should be seen and not heard... he had a long history of tactical silence, and it worked for him. It helped him keep a cool head under pressure, lead disparate and bickering teams and if not keep harmony in the home, at least avoid getting caught in the crossfire. So his first instinct was to keep his thoughts to himself and ride it out.

And if he'd followed that instinct, he could have taken his breakfast up to his room and locked the door, stuck his headphones in his ears and been completely removed from all the carnage until the matter was settled. After all, once one got sucked into the conflict it was too late to walk away, and forgetting was usually just as impossible. It was far wiser to not get involved, don't toss your glove in that ring, don't care...

But everyone had a breaking point. An off day. And if Tim were to be honest, he hadn't really been following that rational first instinct since the moment he woke up and thought "screw Alfred's cooking, I want cereal."

And so little Timmy made the first wave of the morning. Not that Alfred was too ruffled by it- it was a busy day for the butler and Tim suspected he was a little relieved to abandon the cooking in order to leave the manor and run errands. The man was stretched a little thin between caring for the manor and the loyalty that kept him stopping in to check on the penthouse, so Tim ushered Alfred out the door to his business with the assurance that all those lazy enough to sleep in could manage their own breakfasts. Dick certainly had enough cereal boxes stowed there to accommodate the other members of the household.

Which wasn't very sensible, even if it worked out for Tim. Dick didn't live in the manor. He still lived across town in Wayne Tower with his bat-bunker, while Damian had moved into the manor to be with his father. But Dick wasn't going to be keeping the cowl forever, and probably not the penthouse, either. Where he _was_ going to live was an ongoing debate, if Dick would also move into the manor or find his own place in a less affluent part of town. The latter plan was only a possibility, as Bruce wouldn't be thrilled to be told of the idea, despite Dick's logic that if they were trying to save the worst part of Gotham, it was counter-productive to live in the_ best_ part. It was an old argument, and Tim always stayed out of it.

Until today. "So, are these sleep-overs going to become a regular thing?" he asked when Dick came downstairs to the kitchen. By this point, he'd had two bowls of cereal and was going for a third. It was unhealthy, childish and excessive, but Tim wanted it.

Didn't he have the right to get some things he wanted? "Just seemed like a pain to go all the way across the city after Bruce kept me up all night with that case."

"Sure." Dick wasn't fooling anybody. Tim heard the sniffles coming from Damian's room. But when Dick first took on the cowl, when he stared out into that expanse of darkness and depression, his big brother reached for Damian to support him. And maybe it was petty, but Tim figured Dick made his choice and he and the demon could go down together for all he cared.

Speaking of the devil, Damian entered the kitchen next, stomping and glowering at everyone in it. "Morning, Little D."

"There's nothing good about it, _Nightwing_." He said the name as if it were poison. Dick winced, but did his best not to show hurt.

"I'm sorry you feel that way. Have some cereal, it'll cheer you right up."

"Why isn't Pennyworth preparing our meals?" Damian replied with a sneer. Against his instincts, again, Tim spoke up in defense of Alfred.

"If you wanted food, you should have woke up on time. I told him he could go handle more important things than you." Dick held Damian back before the brat could say or do anything, and Tim went back to his cereal. He could admit it; he was in a mood. One that eating seemed to fill. If he could just eat and stay out of everyone's business, he would be fine.

But that was his whole life. _"Tim, dear, won't you be quiet and stay out of everyone's way? No time to talk, just focus on the case. That's a good boy..." _ If he wanted to say things, shouldn't he get to? "What, are you so spoiled you can't even make yourself a bowl of cereal?" Damian's eyes narrowed.

"Don't make me kill you, Drake."

"You didn't get it right the first time, what makes you think you'll have any better luck now?" And Tim continued to eat, knowing Damian was practically frothing at the mouth and his precious Grayson was back to being on Tim's side. Dick would beat Damian off with the Bat-gauntlets if the devil-child ever laid a hand on Tim.

That said, Dick gave Tim a long, pensive look after calming Damian down and getting him a bowl. "Everything all right, Timbo?"

First instinct: say everything's fine and let them move on. Instead, Tim said, "No."

"Anything I can do?"

"Probably not." Unless Dick could whack himself and the rest of the family over the head with an anti-idiot wand, nothing was going to change.

So Dick sat back with a sigh. "Okay. Just... let me know if I can help."

"Like you helped bring back Bruce?" That was a low blow, and it took Dick by surprise. Regular Tim wouldn't say that. Timmy the good son would have held his tongue and thanked Dick, let the whole issue go, because really, it was way too long to still be holding a grudge over this.

But didn't Tim deserve to be angry and selfish sometimes? "Tim..."

Tim took a leaf out of Damian's book. "Shut up, Nightwing." Dick seemed at a loss.

"You do know I'm not Nightwing yet, right?" But it was only a matter of days. "I'm still Batman."

"Not _my_ Batman," Damian growled, letting Tim get back to filling his strange emotional void with food. "Now you're _no one's_ Batman."

"You and Bruce seem to be working better together. You get along better outside the cave, too."

"Tt." Sometimes Tim wondered what life would be like if Dick were more like Tim on a good day. If he stayed out of everyone's business and let things go.

"This is a good thing, D. You get to be with your Dad, really get to know him." Dick was the person who always looked forward, not back. But that didn't mean he wasn't meddling in side stuff all along the way, or that he wasn't still dragging the weight of the past behind him. If he could just detach, like Tim could, would everything have been different? "Don't you want that?"

"No. I was fine without him. None of us need his constant presence hovering over our shoulders."

"Don't ever say that!" Dick looked scandalized. "You can't mean it! No matter how much of a pain he is, you have a second chance with your father! Do you know what I'd give for that?"

Tim should have stayed quiet. He should have kept to his own business. "Oh, so just because you lost your parents, we're all supposed to feel the same way you do?" The only sound was the milk dropping from Tim's spoon into his cereal bowl. It was amazing how little he cared. "He can think whatever he wants, Dick. Just because you don't have a family doesn't mean we have to feel whatever you tell us to."

It was insensitive. It was cutting. It wasn't Tim at all, especially since deep down, he technically agreed with Dick.

But he'd been wanting to say that for awhile, and why should Tim always be the one to hold his tongue? "You're not the only orphan here, you know."

Dick didn't reply right away. He sat in stunned silence while Tim drank the milk in his bowl and immediately poured himself more cereal. Each little piece clinked against the ceramic surface like unloading the magazine from a gun, a million little bullets all aimed at Dick. The older boy didn't really deserve it, but Tim didn't care, and maybe now Dick would quit dragging his issues from the penthouse to the manor.

Eventually Dick said he was sorry. He didn't specify why or to whom, and Tim and Damian didn't ask.

When Bruce came downstairs, he was perturbed by the lack of Alfred and usual breakfast menu, which caused enough of a distraction to lift the gloom. He was also extremely pleased to see that Dick hadn't left yet, further returning Dick to his buoyant self, though Tim sensed the storm on the horizon. The smart thing to do would be to pick up his breakfast and go. That's what he usually did, just leave and get out.

But a whispering voice in his mind entreated that he stay. After all, didn't he deserve to sit at the table in his own home and eat cereal as long as he pleased? Why should he leave just because Dick and Bruce couldn't get their act together?

So he stayed, long enough to see Bruce pull a thick envelope out and present it to Dick. "For me? It's not even my birthday."

"Open it," Bruce insisted, and though his tone was cold and formal, Tim could see a bit of pride in his eyes. The boy took a bite of cereal and resisted the warning sirens blaring in his mind. "Consider it repayment of a debt."

"Repayment?" Tim groaned inside, not fully believing Bruce could be that stupid, even though he had years of experience to know the opposite. "What do you mean?" But Dick soon had his answer as his gift was opened, and now Tim allowed himself an audible sigh, not that anyone paid attention to him. "This is the key to the Bentley... and paperwork for the..."

"The penthouse, yes." If Bruce could have allowed a little of that childish glee Tim knew he felt creep to the surface, the situation could have been salvaged. If he managed to come off like a well-meaning idiot, maybe a lot of situations between he and Dick could have been saved. But no, Bruce had to wrap his stupid idea up in business tones, and when Tim caught his elder brother's eyes, they promised that, yes, all Hell was indeed about to break loose.

"They're both in my name," Dick said with a level voice, and Tim did have to hand it to him for keeping it together this long. "Funny, how I never signed anything."

"It would have spoiled the surprise." Apparently, Bruce had enough money to make a lot of pesky legalities just go away. "They're all yours. There's also a check." Dick scrambled for a minute to find it, but when he did, the pressure in the room shifted so dramatically it would have broken the average barometer. Damian saw the warning signs and quietly decided to take a moment to use the restroom.

And it was a sad day when Damian had better instincts than Tim. Tim stayed. "What's this about, Bruce?"

"What you did in my absence, I didn't think you'd go so far. Looking after Damian, handling everything so well..." If only Bruce could have forced some fondness onto his face, it might have helped. "No one asked you to do that, you had no reason to. I never expected so much from you." On second thought, maybe it wouldn't have.

Dick's hands were shaking, and if Bruce hadn't clued in yet, Tim hoped the 'World's Greatest Detective' could interpret that sign, at least. This was all going to blow up in his face and for some reason, Tim couldn't drag himself out of the blast zone. He spooned cereal into his mouth and just waited.

"Bruce, I don't want this. Take it back."

"You deserve it, Dick. You... you've had a hard year. This will make up for it."

"How do you figure?" Oh, shoot, Dick was actually going to cry. If Bruce didn't pick up that clue, Tim would lose all hope in the man.

"You've been living there long enough to make it your own. No reason why you shouldn't have your own separate place, away from the manor."

"No reason?" Tim's heart broke for Dick. Tim got Bruce, understood his mind. They both could do the rational detachment thing, and while Tim was less inclined to reject any and all emotions that he found uncomfortable, he'd learned to read Bruce's twisted ways of expressing love. Watching Batman and Robin for so many years, he'd been able to analyze from a safe distance, a perspective Dick never had. Not that Tim didn't still have problems with Bruce, but the emotional needs he had were easier for Bruce to meet, and especially with all their one-on-one time after Bruce's return, Tim wasn't feeling bereft of much.

Dick, however... "I don't want the penthouse. I don't want the car. And I especially don't want your money!" Dick seethed, and Bruce looked insulted. "It's your stuff, I don't want it."

"My stuff suddenly isn't good enough for you?"

"That's not what I said!" Both men were on their feet now, facing each other with glares. "But I don't need big, expensive gifts, Bruce!"

"It's not a gift, it's payment!"

"Well, you can take your payment and shove it up your-" Damian suddenly re-entered the room, and Dick caught himself at the last second, "-rear!"

As if the demon hadn't uttered worse to Batman's face. But Damian shuffled over to Tim and sat beside him, uncharacteristically civil. While Bruce and Dick yelled themselves in circles, Tim fixed his eyes on the cretin, who was actually looking something like the child he was supposed to be.

Poor thing, hadn't yet developed enough callouses for Dick and Bruce fights. "Got something to say?"

Damian leaned in and whispered. "Why doesn't Father just rescind the offer?" Damian hadn't lived here long enough, and Bruce had been gone for most of that. He truly had no idea the drama that went on in this house sometimes.

Tim sighed. "Bruce is trying to do something nice."

"Well, he is clearly failing!" Damian hissed, glaring at his father for not admitting defeat and making a tactical withdrawal. "And why can't Grayson just accept it and keep the unwanted things in storage?"

"Because it's not about the things..." Dick was screeching now, and Bruce's fists were starting to twitch.

Tim focused on his cereal. He should have left, but he didn't. He shouldn't have shot barbs at Dick this morning to make him so sensitive, but he did. Too late to undo, but now this fight was going to get real. He should keep his head down, ignore it, mind his own business.

"No, I don't want a _different_ car! It's just stuff, Bruce! Just empty, hollow stuff! All of it's flat and lifeless and_ I don't want it!_"

"Sometimes you are the most spoiled child I've ever met!" An honor which should really go to Damian.

"Says the man who thinks money is a substitute for everything!" And now Tim wished he had gone with his first instinct and left the room, abandoned the situation along with all hope.

He was so sick of this. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to pay back a debt. Dick, you were under no obligation to do what you did!"

"No obligation? And what did I do, huh? Can you even say it?"

"You took care of things," Bruce said resolutely. He refused to say more.

So sick and tired... "None of it is a debt! And you can keep your things, they belong to you!"

"You've defaced and personalized everything. What am I going to do with it?" To ward off residue from Guiborg's fear toxin, Leslie had suggested Dick display some of his own possessions in the penthouse. Turn it into a home, psychological anchors and all that.

'Graysonizing' the penthouse might have grounded Dick in regard to the chemicals, but it didn't seem to be helping any other aspect of his life. "You don't want it back now that I've touched it?"

"What? No, you've been living in the penthouse for over a year. You've added things, changed the curtains, put up pictures and posters..." Bruce ticked off, now angry. "It's more yours than mine, now."

"So is Damian, but I don't get to keep him!"

"And there it is..." Tim sighed, while Damian went rigid. Little monster didn't even know he was so loved. Everyone fighting over the demon spawn, everyone pushing away Tim. Until he brought Bruce back from the dead, of course, that made him special again.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me." Dick was nearly trembling with fury and fear, a combination Tim had seen a million times before. So often, it barely startled him anymore.

It just made him sick. "I heard your words, but it seems you have a lot more to say." A perfect time for Dick to suddenly decide to be silent. "I can't believe you would bring a child into this argument!" Damian just sat like his spine had been replaced by concrete. Tim wished the little brat would leave the room. He wished _he_ would.

"Well, I can't believe you would reduce everything I went through to a dollar sign," Dick hissed. "You have no idea what it was like!"

"I didn't _want_ you to take the cowl, Dick!" Perhaps Bruce could have said that without the scolding tone, but it was technically true. "No one made you do that! I didn't _force_ you move back to Gotham or raise Damian, you did that on your own! You weren't supposed to do any of this!"

"I know, you turned your back on the gypsy for five minutes and he stole your whole life out from under your nose!" Tim almost choked. Dick chose 'Romani' to describe his heritage; 'gypsy' was the word insensitive snobs used when they asked why that circus boy was still hanging around after his wardship ended. "You can't just throw a lot of money at me and make this go away. Any of it."

"What do you want, then?" Bruce exploded, and Tim knew the climax was coming, and he shoveled down cereal all the faster to ignore it.

"I want you to quit shoving things away just because they're not convenient for you," Dick spat. "It's just like when Jason died-"

"Don't bring up Jason!" Tim finally took his last mouthful. He drank the milk and stared at the smooth surface for a few seconds.

Then he set the bowl down and poured himself some more cereal. "You'd rather grieve over a memorial of a perfect little Robin than acknowledge that he's actually alive!" Dick accused. "Never mind he was your real son long before I was!"

"Are you-"

"And you'd rather shove a bunch of money in my face then deal with the consequences of disappearing for a year. One day you're not going to have a string of heirs waiting in the wings, Bruce, or a fleet of pawns! But if this is all it means to you, than maybe you should think twice before adopting the next kid!"

He should have stayed out of it. But the veins popped out on Bruce's forehead and when the man took a threatening step forward, Tim went with his second instinct. "Bruce, I swear on the cowl, if you hit him I will call the cops and report a domestic abuse case."

That ground everything to a halt. Tim continued to stare at his bowl, and once he got his breath back, began to pour some milk over the cereal. "I mean it. No matter how big an idiot Dick is, I'll make the call and I'll take it all the way to court. He says you never laid a hand on him as a kid, but just because you're adults now doesn't make it okay."

He could feel everyone's eyes on him, especially Damian's. The kid didn't know, hadn't seen what Tim had. Tim watched Bruce punch Dick so hard the boy ended up flat on the floor, he'd seen Dick driven out of the mansion and the Bat Cave alike. And the stories he heard of before Tim arrived were even worse. Maybe Dick baited Bruce on occasion, but Tim was so tired of it all that he didn't care.

"Timmy-"

"Dick, just shut up, no one's trying to get rid of you. Bruce is ashamed of his own jealousy and he's overcompensating. The fact that you don't look super loved right now is terrifying him." Dick did clamp his mouth shut, and for that, Tim was grateful. Now that he'd spoken up, he couldn't go halfway and it was proving a little more difficult than his exasperated mind thought it would be.

"And Bruce, for the love of all that is holy, quit trying to buy Dick off, because it's basically reading as 'Thanks for baby-sitting, now get out of my house, you charity case.'" And he could almost hear the shame crashing down on Bruce like bricks.

"I didn't mean-"

"It doesn't matter what you meant, that's still what we got." One of Bruce's core flaws was the inability to realize that the thoughts in his head didn't always translate out. "You pay employees and hired help, not the son who stepped up to fulfill his familial obligations, and don't you dare tell _any _of us that we didn't have to do that stuff, for the record." It actually had been stewing with Tim for awhile, too. He would have been content to let it go, but...

It seemed Tim was having an off day. "Now, go hug or something. I'm trying to finish my breakfast." His ears burned, everyone's eyes still on him, and he hoped that would stop in a second, because he'd pretty much finished off the box, so once this bowl was done, that was it.

"I'm sorry, Tim," Dick said, and Bruce echoed it, but Tim just waved them off.

"Whatever. I'm eating." It was too much to expect that Dick and Bruce would actually_ talk_, because even if they could drive home the point, Bruce was still incapable of giving Dick the one thing he needed. Tim could live without it, Damian could live without it, Cass didn't expect it and Jason would have had a heart attack and shot something, but Dick was different, and after all these years, Tim thought Bruce would have figured that out. Or that Dick would have figured out it wasn't ever happening and learn to speak Bruce-language.

But that's why Tim was the smart one. And didn't he deserve a day where he could call everyone out on their idiocy?

Bruce and Dick eventually retreated to another room, and their conversation was kept in soft tones. Tim tried not to care, even if it was a little late to call on the 'head down, don't get involved' policy.

Damian stared at him with a new awe. "That was an interesting display, Drake."

"You know, if you weren't such a brat all the time, Bruce wouldn't be so jealous and Dick wouldn't have the guilt complex. You have one Batman and one dad, and that's just how it is, so you could maybe try not to make this painful for everybody." Damian's little frown twisted into a smirk.

"You are incorrect, Drake." Of course. Damian had two Batmen and two father figures and Tim still felt stuck in that awful time where he had neither. "But since you have been correct in everything else, I'll let it slide."

"How magnanimous of you," Tim grumbled. He finished his breakfast and washed the bowl out in the sink. He'd eaten too much, and now his stomach hurt. "I'm going to my room. Don't bother me."

"Why would I willingly seek out your company?" Typical Damian. At least he could be counted on. With any luck, Dick, Bruce and Alfred would follow suit and leave him alone for the rest of the day. Tomorrow he'd probably be in a better mood, but for now he wanted to be a teenager who sulked in his room and didn't hold his tongue all the time. Someone who didn't have to just put up with things and bury his feelings, or be pleasant when he didn't feel like it.

Sometimes he wanted to be more like Dick and Damian. Even Jason.

But he also wasn't keen on starting any more controversy, so he hoped everyone left him alone for the rest of the day. Before he could retreat to the safety of his room, however, Dick cornered him in the hallway. "I'm really sorry, Tim."

"Whatever." It was over. Until it happened again, because nothing ever ran smoothly in their family. Too many high stakes, too much life and death, it made every little grievance feel like the end of the world because that very well could be the case.

Dick's eyes were both sympathetic and ashamed. "It really bothers you when we fight, huh?"

"You should know better," Tim snapped back. "He never changes, but you keep chasing him for affection he won't give and it makes me sick! And he criticizes you and yells, and acts like that's okay!"

The older one tried to play it off with a lighthearted smile. "Hey, I yell at him, too, you know."

"It doesn't matter, he's the parent!" Tim cried, hating his rising voice but unable to stop. Didn't he deserve to rant and yell, too? "He should be better than that! Parents are supposed to be better! They're not supposed to scream and put you down or ignore you for weeks, they have to be better! Not disappearing to who knows where and leaving you all alone..."

It was about when Dick's arms flung around him that Tim realized maybe he wasn't talking just about Bruce anymore.

"They're supposed to be better," he whimpered. "And you! It's always Bruce to you! Never mind that there's a million other people who love you! Only Bruce's word matters! I was Robin to your Batman, remember that?" He punched at Dick's chest a bit, though the other boy just held him closer. "I would have followed you anywhere, why wasn't that good enough? Huh? I could have been there for you! Why wasn't I good enough?"

"No, little bird, you were perfect..."

"I wanted to be there for you!" Tim sobbed into Dick's chest, pounding on it occasionally, even though he'd heard the explanations a million times. He agreed with Dick's logic, actually.

But he was a human being with feelings, too. No one really expected him to be mini-Bruce, did they?

"I want it back," he cried to Dick, even though he knew it was fruitless. And embarrassingly ironic. "It was mine! And you gave it to him! I don't want to be Red Robin, I want to go back!"

"I know. _Believe_ me, I know." But Dick would go back to being Nightwing soon, and Tim was stuck in a costume he didn't want, a role that was as superfluous as it was foreign. Batman had a Robin. Bruce had a son. What did they need Tim for? "You gotta find your own nest, baby bird."

But Tim didn't want a lonely nest by himself again, he wanted that beautiful cave full of bats and birds who loved him. He never wanted to be his own hero, he was happy and satisfied to be Robin, and now everything was changing and they expected Tim to just shut up and be rational about it?

By this point, Tim was practically hanging off Dick, his legs not bearing up their own weight at all. His brother just leaned into the wall and the two slid down to the floor, where it became easier for Dick to tuck Tim inside a blanket of warm limbs. "It'll be okay, Timmy, I promise. Don't cry..." But Tim kept crying, and Dick kept soothing, breath ghosting over his hair in a way Tim would have killed for when he was younger. When he was a child who was expected to cry and want comfort, and not the near adult who really should have gotten himself together by now.

He thought he might have heard footsteps approach, pause, then turn around. He wasn't sure, and he didn't look up, but he definitely didn't imagine Damian's similarly heavy tread when it arrived a few seconds later. "What on earth is wrong with Drake?"

"Same thing that's wrong with all of us," Dick replied, squeezing Tim a little tighter to fend off the younger's embarrassment. "It's harder now that Bruce's back, isn't it?" It felt like a betrayal to say so, but it was true. Their souls were all gutted between the grief and various exchanging of costumes, but order was eventually restored. They healed, moved on.

And now Bruce was back and inadvertently tearing off the scabs, stepping into his old shoes only to find someone else inside them. Everything was bleeding and forced and Tim was sick of being so reasonable about it all. "You don't see me sobbing like a child."

"Not now, Damian," Dick sighed, then his tone hardened. "Not ever." Tim wished he'd come back earlier. He wished he'd accepted Dick's apologies earlier, dropped the grudge and let his brother be his fierce, loving, protective self. "You don't talk to family that way."

"As evidenced by your upstanding display in the kitchen, I assume?" Tim felt Dick's wince.

"Okay, that... I... just get down here, Little D." There was some shifting, and Damian was folded into Dick's other side, a little reluctantly.

It was the closest Tim had been to the demon without sudden, painful impact. "What Drake said... Father would never actually strike you, right Grayson?"

Dick didn't answer. "I'm sorry we fought in front of you guys. I should have known better." He should have, but it was possible that Dick had a breaking point, too. "Batman is supposed to protect his Robins." For all the hours Dick had left to claim the title.

"What about Nightwing?"

Warmth washed through his brother's words like a river. "Nobody loves Robins more than Nightwing."

"Is that so?" Damian asked in a voice so tiny Tim thought he was hearing things.

"Swear on my scaly panties. We're gonna be okay, guys. I'll make it okay." Dick was many things, but not a liar. Even so, it was hard for Tim to accept the comfort. "I'm sorry I put you in the middle like that."

"We're all allowed a few off days," Tim mumbled around his tears. Granted, Dick's off days tended to turn into months and sometimes required surveillance so he didn't come home in a body bag. Tim nestled closer to his brother and tried not to think of how many times Dick might have considered felo-de-se via supervillain to escape the weight of the cowl.

And now Damian had his real father. Wayne Enterprises had it's real CEO. Gotham had it's prodigal Batman. What need was there for Batman-lite and Red Robin?

They were forced to reverse everything good they'd built, except Tim had nothing to fall back on. The thought brought a second wave of tears, and if it looked childish to Damian, the little twerp could go jump in a lake. "I hate this."

"I know. We'll work it out, though. It'll be okay." Two of Tim's "brothers" tried to kill him. Their "father" disappeared for a year and acted like there wasn't an unmarked headstone in the cemetery for him. Their "sister" hadn't visited or called since the whole debacle started. Tim had dead friends, dead family members, and probably didn't deserve to complain because Dick had been doing this for way longer and the body count was much higher. How could it ever be okay?

Suddenly, Tim needed to get out of his broken, two-faced house. "You guys want to get out of here? Go get a pizza or something?" Brotherly bonding, what normal families did. That wasn't so hard, was it, to let Tim's life be normal for a day?

"Didn't you just eat your weight in cereal?" Tim shrugged in Dick's embrace.

"Yeah, but I still feel empty." With great sympathy, Dick helped him to his feet and shut up Damian's protests that the last thing he wanted was to be seen in public with _Drake. _

"Just let me get my wallet, and we'll go." Dick's hand lingered on Tim's shoulder. "It's gonna be okay, Tim. I promise." Tim's first instinct was to say that Dick was wrong. There was too much dysfunction, too many murder attempts. Dick and Bruce would always fight, make up, then fight again in a vicious cycle, and Tim and Damian would never be caring siblings. Jason was never coming home and Tim might never actually want him to, who knew what Cassandra thought about anything, and Bruce was _never _going to change or be what everyone wanted from him. He'd never be what he'd unintentionally promised when he took them all in.

As if Tim even knew what a functional family was supposed to look like. His first instinct was to batten down the hatches because it was never going to be okay.

But the second reaction was one of hope, that Dick could be right, that there was a chance at change and it was worth getting into a snit over. Tim wasn't in the mood to be the realistic, pragmatic thinker they all expected him to be.

He was having an off day. Happened to everybody, right?

Tim ignored his first instinct, and went with the second option.


End file.
